Are You Worried For Me?
by turtlekisses
Summary: “Merlin studied the concern in Arthur’s eyes for a moment, then cracked a slow grin. ‘Are you... worried for me?’” Prince Arthur and King Arthur giving the same answer to the same question in an entirely different way.


Eleven days, Merlin mused. Eleven whole days of straight hunting. Eleven whole days of dry bread, pressed herbs, and preserved meat substituted infrequently with the day's catch. Eleven days of bed rolls and uneven ground. Eleven days of mud and rain, meaning no reasonable explanation as to why the wet, soggy branches were catching fire, thus no magically-lit campfire. Eleven days of following a prat, loyally gallivanting through shrubbery, growing slowly more irritable by the day.

Merlin groaned. That was eleven full days either resting in the pommel of a saddle, or shifting uncomfortably on a sodden, moss culture of a log trying to stoke a smouldering pile of twigs into meagre flame - or worse, wriggling around, trying to remove twigs and rocks from under your own bedroll so you get at least a few hours sleep in the muddy leaves. He wasn't even paying attention anymore. Let the idiot prince catch his stupid rabbits. Let him catch his voles and boar; the innocent beasts. Let the prat claim entertainment and relaxation on the lives of animals.

After all, Merlin just wanted to be at home. He wiggles his toes inside his leather boots. A dampness between his toes that was the result of several days in the rain and mist prevailed awfully uncomfortably there. The constant friction and moisture in his boots risking hideous blisters forming at any moment. His mussed hair clung to the back of his neck, dripping water into his collar every now and then, chilling his neck and making him shiver. The hole in the sleeve of his left elbow was letting a draft into his shirt and that breeze was stealing his body heat too.

"Is this entirely necessary, Arthur?" Merlin called. He was riding a horse - the stablehand had called her Walnut - a few paces behind the prince, but now levelled her beside Arthur's own stallion. "I mean, haven't you slaughtered enough creatures to slate your bloodlust?"

"I'm not sure you understand, Merlin, the meaning of silence." Arthur whispered his response, head on the swivel. His sword was strapped to the horse, but unslung and in his hands at the moment was a short, plain hunting bow.

The quiver was strapped to the horse. Arthur didn't like the feel of it slung over his shoulder. He said it felt restrictive and limited the movement he had with his sword. Also, much to Merlin's amusement the first time he tried it, the arrows just seemed to spill about as soon as he shifted.

Merlin ignored his jab. "I mean," he continued in his normal voice, as if Arthur hadn't spoken, "if the rabbits fought back, it might be better. Aren't you knights all about honour? Where's the honour in killing a defenceless mammal?"

"I think the value in hunting is the skill of a strike." Someone behind Merlin piped up, and he shifted in the saddle to look at Gwaine accusingly. So much for honour among thieves - of course the knight would take the prince's side.

Arthur nodded emphatically, relaxed. He had said earlier that it would be at least another hour before they reached a good hunting site, and that they need not be on their guard yet. Frayed nerves did no one any good. Also full of contradictions, he had told his knights that it was bandit territory and should be aware of their surroundings at all times. "And there's honour in making a man's meal from your own catch. It proves ability and competence, which you evidently lack, Merlin."

Arthur glanced into the trees carefully before diverting his full attention to his manservant's frivolous conversation.

"I'm fairly competent..." Merlin mewled defensively, and stubbornly stuck out his bottom lip.

"Oh sure," Arthur intoned, rolling his eyes, "'Merlin' and 'competent'. The day those two words fit together in a sentence is the day pigs fly."

At that moment, with Arthur's back to the feature of the spectacle, a wild boar, monstrous in its proportions soared through the underbrush, landing almost two metres away from the bush it sprung from. The flying beast barrelled through the horses, whom balked and staggered frantically as the vicious creature tore through their ranks. It was past Arthur before he registered the creature was even there, and Merlin could only watch as it spun past his horse's prancing hooves and through the other knights. Arthur's bow was knocked and drawn, but firing into his own men stilled his release.

He may have no regard for animal life, but at least the prat knows not to risk killing a man, Merlin thought fondly. Still, a boar was dangerous at the best of times, much less a crazed monster of that size in the middle of a modest patrol of vulnerable horses' legs.

Gwain's and Leon's shouts for ordered movement rang out over the general din of soldiers panicking for their mounts and their own necks as some tumbled off the balking horses. Swords rang as they were unsheathed, but nobody had a clear shot among the prancing hooves. A battle-trained steed may have remained composed, but few of the horses being ridden, not even Arthur's own mount, was trained to remain calm in such a situation.

By the time the boar had exited the other end of the group and knights had all drawn their useless weapons, there were two men on the ground, one horse had bolted, one was limping on three legs, and another three were in eye-rolling hysterics.

Arthur was barking orders, telling knights to regain their ranks, and leave the boar to run, so they could regroup. "Catch it later!" He said, "We can track it, right now we need to attend to the horses."

Merlin was on the ground in seconds, and he almost didn't see the three, bristled baby boar tumbling past in their way after their mother. Strange, he barely registered, an animal bolting directly into a potential threat. Especially with young to consider.

They stumbled and rolled through the group quickly, and nobody attacked them. Arthur hadn't even seemed to notice as he tried to calm his horse. It wasn't the one he normally rode, and it was obvious in the startle of his manner in the face of a fight. His normal mount had taken ill with the winter sickness and the battle-horse Arthur preferred was stabled back in Camelot. Merlin himself had to strain to maintain his grip on Walnut's bridle though, as the horse reared, nostrils flaring. He burring his face in the mare's mane to hide his eyes flashing as he whispered a calming spell. Immediately Walnut stilled and nickered softly.

When they passed, he knelt to analyse the damage to Walnut's ankles, and was glad to see no wounds. Lucky her. Gwain was less lucky. His stallion had been cut just above the hoof, and needed to be bandaged quickly. It wasn't enough to require more drastic attention, but it was bleeding enough to cause a problem.

Merlin cursed the waste of bandages as he wrapped the horse's wound, and considered his dwindling medicinal supplies. He had needed to patch up Sir Antony two days ago when he'd been hit by another soldier's stray shot to his left bicep. Sir Elyan had needed a tonic after he'd been the first to try Gwain's cooking and been fed a plant that had acted as a particularly strong muscle relaxant. It had been messy in more ways than one, and Elyan was still trying to regain both his pride and exact his revenge.

Knowing the mischievous knight, Merlin wasn't entirely sure Gwain's mixup was an accident.

In any case, he was short of a few vital herbs and he only had one set of bandages left. Unless they dropped by a nearby village in the next few days, or turned back to return to Camelot, they could be in a potentially terrible situation.

Merlin sighed, standing up, and he mopped a hand up his forehead, pulling the damp hair off his face. Curse this humidity. "This is what you get for killing rabbits. Defenceless, I tell you!" Merlin murmured to himself.

Arthur's voice sounded out from the other side of Walnut's barrel-chest. "Oh really, care to say that again, Merlin?"

Merlin grinned, only just hiding the startle that sent adrenaline into his bloodstream and a shock down his spine. "What was that, sire? I haven't the faintest what you mean."

Arthur only rolled his eyes, hitting his manservant upside the head with the leather cords attached to his horse's bridle. "Why am I doing this? This is your job, Merlin."

"Well I'm sorry I'm the only person here capable of healing and basic medicinal care." He shot back pointedly placing emphasis on the only acknowledged capability that made him unique and necessary among the burly knights and brainless soldiers in the party.

"Just manage him, Merlin." Arthur sighed, all but throwing the reigns at him.

Suddenly and arrow shot past Merlin's ear, and skimmed the back of Arthur's raised hand. Calling out in pain, Arthur ducked away from the source of the shot instinctively. From behind Merlin's horse he saw a plethora of men rushing out of the forest and swinging untrained swords at men and horses alike.

"Bandits!" His voice boomed. "Defensive positions!"

Knights sprung into movement, prior actions abandoned. A couple of horses, untied, shied from the clashes and clangs that began ringing out from sword on sword and knives against armour.

As shouts began filling the forest ambiance, Merlin started forward. A heavy hand on his forearm stopped him, however, and anxious eyes met his own. "Get out of the way, yes? Go hide." Arthur ordered.

Merlin studied the concern in Arthur's eyes for a moment, then cracked a slow grin. "Are you... worried for me?"

Arthur scoffed, letting his arm go and began walking backwards, away from the manservant and toward the fray. Merlin objected to the appraising eye Arthur had run down his lanky arms and decisive lack of any significant muscle mass.

"Never, Merlin."

~oOo~

Eleven days. Arthur had been preparing for this battle for eleven days. Gathering sorcerers and sidekicks, knights and knaves. Men and women swarmed to aid their king, offering tributes of time and resources to the army and allied forces. Druids had aligned themselves with Arthur long ago, choosing the Once-and-Future-King over Morgania's forces in that fateful battle.

Injured, Arthur had been carried from the battle by his manservant, who had struggled to stem the bleeding and close the potentially mortal wound on Arthur's abdomen.

He had survived, barely. In fact, Arthur's allied forces had all survived, barely. Men had died, yes, but Morgana was dead, Mordred lying on the floor bleeding, and the day was won. Arthur found out about Merlin's magic, and he and his wife Queen Guinevere had slowly re-introduced the Old Religion back into the land, recently having had one manservant promoted to the prestigious title of 'Court Sorcerer'.

Now there was a battle looming, for the sake of Albion lands against Camelot's borders that were resisting the return to magic, as many dubbed it, needed to be subjugated, if negotiations fell through. In this case they had, and the battle, however destructive, was necessary. Albion was worth it.

Two Druids entered the war-council room and bowed before the king. Arthur, dressed in practical leathers over an older, slightly faded red tunic. Secured at his waist with a belt buckle with one or two too many holes for his emotional comfortability was a sword, sheathed in an ornate casing fit for Camelot's monarch.

Arthur straightened from his lean over the map table at the sound of their entrance. Merlin, sitting at his right hand, had murmured a warning to their approach moments earlier and Arthur knew to expect their presence. Merlin had become significantly more adept at his warlock abilities since the ban on the practice of the Old Religion has been lifted, allowing access to many of the confiscated tomes and novels in Uther's treasury. He had learned recently how to cast an imperceivable barrier around himself that twinged when someone entered, and gave a minor indication of emotions that drove intent. It sapped his strength however, so he only used it in the presence of Arthur, to whom he had sworn his magic to protect 'till his death. Merlin didn't see the strain of keeping the barrier up constantly as worth it, especially if it were unlikely he would cross paths with someone of ill intent towards Arthur when not truly by the King's side.

It was also an incredibly short range spell, given it only allowed a few moments warning before the person was within striking distance anyway.

It meant physical attempts on Arthur's life had dropped significantly and Merlin was afforded more time as Arthur's advisor than personal guard-dog. That said, Merlin still did a better job of protecting Arthur's person than almost all of the castle guards combined.

The taller Druid, Allien Frénaile was the head of the Allied Druidic Army of Camelot. Since the return of magic the Druids still found themselves seperate from common village-folk due to the ingrained and lingering prejudice so Arthur had started an elite and exclusive Druidic force to show his people a willingness to collaborate with them.

The other Druid was a younger man, not yet in his twenties, but he looked like a child when juxtaposed with the elderly army-head. His dark hair, high cheekbones and long eyelashes lent him a smokey, mysterious look that suited his quiet, watchful personality.

"Allien, Sorit, What news?" Arthur greeted. "Does the army hold?"

Allien clasped his hands behind him and stood taller, addressing the king with propriety. He was a proud man, extremely pompous and ambitious in spite of his people's commonly prevalent personality traits that lenses towards tolerance and patience. Allien was a go-getter and a high achiever. He did what he had to do to reach his goals, with almost no care to casualties.

His younger counterpart was surely more complacent. The second in command, Sorit Burne, calmed Allien's harsher decisions and mediated complex arguments. Allien was brash and manipulative, but it was obvious Sorit's aptitude for leadership came from working in the shadows and indulging a higher power's need for council. Although he was more rational and emotionally controlled, he didn't have the manipulative mindset that would allow him to choose to hurt another for the sake of his own benefit.

It was a necessary trait, Merlin mused, grudgingly. Wars weren't won and arguments stopped through benevolence only. The two did work surprisingly well in conjunction with one another.

The druids began speaking of news from the border. The enemy was advancing on the division of the land, not attempting to enter Camelot's border, but straying close enough to pose a tangible threat.

"Do we have an estimate on their numbers, Allien?" Arthur queried, placing the heel of his hands on the edge of the table.

"No change in estimates there, Sire. The army still dwarves our own by nine thousand men."

"Trouble then." Merlin sighed, a touch sarcastically. He slouched in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was getting too old for this, and he was barely even out of his thirties! "Why can't there just be a calm day in this damned country." He looked at the King and then at the Druids. "Are we sure this threat isn't just that? A threat only?"

He had been thinking about this for a few days now. Although military action was commonly taken over a longer course than eleven days, the wait seemed overly drawn out given the enemy's proximity. A rout could have already begun and ended by now, and yet the armies postured and strut along the border as if that was their entire purpose.

Arthur frowned at Merlin's casualness, but didn't remark on it publicly. He had long since refrained from undermining his ex-manservant in serious meetings like this one. In casual company comparatively, anything was fair game. "It is always a possibility, but there is still ample time before we can accurately make that observation. It's only been nigh on a fortnight. I'll hold my judgement on that for now."

Merlin bit back a comment on judgement not being his strong suit anyway, and settled for a snort into his sleeve. Arthur lowered his brows again and pursed his lips in an attempt not to smile as he guessed Merlin's thoughts, and returned his attention to the druids.

As he did so Merlin murmured a warning. "A servant approaches."

"A servant?" Arthur scoffed, unsure why that was important. "There are many servants in the castle. I hardly need you to tell me when one draws near the room I inhabit."

Merlin didn't rise to the jibe. He watched the door seriously. "He is anxious. Hasty."

The doors burst open unceremoniously. A panting, shaky servant placed her palms on his knees and announced herself. A guard at the door stepped forward to grasp the young girl. When she shook him off he attempted to grip her more firmly. She calmed in his hands and stopped resisting.

"Sire! Antoinette, Sire. I have a message from the battle-camps. Do you permit me speak?"

Arthur started at the words. It had been a long time since someone had asked permission to speak in his presence. It was a practice he hadn't carried in from his father's example.

"Speak freely, Antoinette."

"Yes, Sire! The enemy encampment sent an invitation for parley."

"He wishes to confer? When was this received?" Arthur straightened again, only to return to his seat. A crease marred his brow. Merlin suddenly had the thought that Arthur had frowned a lot more in the last fortnight than he had in six months. He made note to engage in a more rigorous bout of banter than usual when they next met casually.

"A three day ago, Sire." She bowed her head in subservience. "It was a three day travel, Sire. I left for the keep as soon as the summons was received."

She held out a roll of yellowing parchment addressed to the head of the army-encampment. The seal was broken, assuredly by the man himself, but it was re-rolled and tied neatly with twine.

Arthur took it and read it carefully. The council room was silent for a long moment, letting His Majesty read, before one of the Lords god impatient. "So, what does it say, Your Highness?" Arthur sent the man a chiding eye at his disrespectful tone, and the man was cowed, but did neither apologise nor retract his question. Arthur was a benevolent ruler and the man knew he would not be forcibly asked to apologise for his disrespect unless it were publicly disregarding his status as king in front of the people or foreign ambassadors.

Merlin thought Arthur's respect for propriety had dipped somewhat too far in recent years, but didn't say anything. He didn't want to sound like the prat himself. The role-reversal was striking.

"It speaks of meeting on the plains, at the Great Oak that features at the centre of the fields. A time is set - a week from now - and he asks we only bring a small retinue of six men maximum and one sorcerer, if need be. He claims he will bring the same.

"I'd assume if you were to accept the meeting it would be me as your 'sorcerer'?" Merlin grinned. Arthur didn't deign to answer.

Instead, he turned to a knight standing by the door. "Leon, organise rest for this maid and send someone to ready the horses. I will ride out this evening."

Two of the councillors cried objections, "Sire! Surely this is not safe?"

"You are meeting on his terms at his determined time and place!" Merlin was tempted to agree. It wasn't a great political move, and it bred a view of placidity on Arthur's part.

"I will re-negotiate time and place when I arrive at our camp. Until then we must make speed."

Merlin stood, with Arthur, and watched the two druids bow to the King with a quiet scoff he hastily disguised as a cough. "I assume the council, with that, is adjourned?"

"Yes, we will set up a council tent within the camp, I expect any of you able to leave your land and duties here unattended for a few weeks at least, to make the journey as well."

"Yes, Sire." They all parroted.

When Arthur and Merlin had exited the council room and were entering the hallways that traversed the castle alone, Arthur spoke again.

"Merlin, you stay by my side at all times. Bring your staff, we will be facing unknown dangers."

"As always then, hey Arthur?"

Arthur ignored the challenge. His face was taught with worry and his jaw was clenched and set. Merlin didn't notice the fist around the pommel of his blade. "You will ride beside me. I need you to stay nearby."

Merlin peered at Arthur and turned to walk in front of him, facing backwards. He leaned to look under the blond man's fringe and studied his face with a cheeky grin.

"Are you worried about me, Sire?"

Arthur stopped walking, and Merlin slowed to a stop too, his smile faltering at Arthur's unusually out-of-character seriousness. The King rolled his gaze down the height of Merlin's slim frame with approval in his eye. When he replied it was without a hint of humour or sarcasm. His tone betrayed a trust and understanding they had built over the course of years they had spent together and Arthur smiled softly.

"Never, Merlin."

~oOo~

 ** _It's been a quite long time since I've actually watched the series, so I apologise for any discrepancies. Please review :)_**


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